


Seeing Red

by green_licorice



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Invasion, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Blood, Hair-pulling, Hatesex, M/M, Rough Sex, Unreliable Narrator, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26332363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_licorice/pseuds/green_licorice
Summary: That feeling when you get really mad at a confused alien over personal issues and somehow wind up attempting to fuck it.
Relationships: John Egbert/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32
Collections: We Die Like Fen 4: We Lived to Die Afen





	Seeing Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychomachia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/gifts).



The blood is red.

It's fucking red.

Karkat grips his sickles a little tighter and glares at the alien like it has personally offended him, because honestly, it has. Of all the things to come across on his first deployment under the command of Her Imperious Condescension's military might, of course it has to be race of aliens with his exact fucking shade of mutant red _fucking_ blood.

Amid the rubble of the ruined suburban street, filled with uncomfortable alike copy-pasted hives all smoking and cratered by the initial strike force's overly eager laser fire, lies the shaking body of one of the aliens, covering its head with its hands. Sliding off of it is the wooden remains of a nutrition plateau it must have been cowering under in the corner while the ships flew by. The blood spatters the ground in meaningless patterns, drips from the alien's cuts, puddles under the remains of a neighboring threshold where some other alien housemate lies bleeding out, and generally does not stop being bright red.

Karkat steps closer, until he could kick the alien in the thoracic struts if he felt like it. The aliens of this planet -- they're called _humans_ , he vaguely remembers from the briefing -- are uncomfortably troll-like, with the same layout of limbs and head and torso, though up close he can see even subtle differences beyond the different color and lack of horns. Its claws are blunt and wide, a transparent off-white shade, and the skin wrinkles too much, painfully thin and unsupported by underlying carapace. That's probably why the blood color is getting to him so much, he decides. If it looked more like an animal, he wouldn't care. Plenty of animals have blood like his. Just not trolls.

The human tilts its head to look up at him, and behind its ugly broken glasses, its eyes are wide and wild and electric blue. (And isn't that throwing him for a fucking loop, too, to realize the eye color means nothing, that these disgusting creatures are all red inside like him and they don't even have the decency to have to suffer and hide themselves for it.)

He glares, but the human doesn't run away or scream, just sits there in front of him like an especially stupid hopbeast.

Great. Even the ones that are supposed to be afraid of him are too stupid to be scared. This whole day has been going downhill since he landed onworld, and it doesn't even have the decency to find any redeeming qualities. He kicks the wooden slab instead of the human, and huffs and grumbles a moment before remembering he's supposed to be finishing off the survivors of this particular area. The space between fights (and the fact he hasn't killed any of the humans yet face-to-face), is almost contemplative, and he doubts the bronzeblood he was paired off with is going to worry about making sure he comes back. He's just another piece of lowblood cannon fodder, like her.

The human says something in the general direction of the ground, and its voice sounds like rasping birdsong, none of the familiar trills and growls and rattles of Alternian. It blinks at him. He considers ignoring it, but it gets slightly more persistent, increasing in volume and rhythm, the same short phrase stuck on repeat. It looks back up at him again, and its eyes are angrier now, he thinks. Good. He feels better about being angry back, this way.

"Fuck you," he says, not quite summoning up the vitriol for a rant. "Do you know how long I've spent every fucking day trying not to get caught? Do you know how lucky you are, you smug dense fuck, to apparently just have that stupid goddamn bloodcolor as your default?! You don't even understand a word I'm fucking saying, but if I had the chance to magically cross our linguistic boundaries to communicate exactly one thing to you and one thing alone, it would be how much I fucking despise you for that." And how jealous he is, he doesn't say aloud. He glances around, feeling like he's said too much already, but nobody else is around. Just dead and dying humans as far as he can see.

"My resentment knows no bounds. It expands eternally and infinitely, like the goddamn universe," he finishes. The human's tone simmers down into something lower and bitter, but doesn't act scared. Defiant, if anything, and he can see new traces of moisture around the eyes (can humans cry? He doesn't see a trace of blood color in the tears, but the screwed-up face is too eerily similar to ignore.) He's starting to feel hot under his uniform, the armor adding an annoying layer of bulk to his body, and wait just a grubshitting minute. No. _No._

Fuck no.

He is not feeling pitch for this fucking human. He is not pitch for an entire fucking alien species! He doesn't hate them like that. He just resents them, and envies them, and wants to grind this stupid human's face into the ground and stomp on it and climb on top of its legs and no, nope, no. Fuck this shit. He is not going to fuck an alien!

That nobody is going to stop him from fucking the alien, or even care so long as he kills it after, is not a helpful realization.

He growls in frustration, and the human is still fucking staring and talking to itself, and as much as Karkat would like to think it's something like _oh god oh fuck i'm going to die,_ it's probably more like _fuck you alien scum, why don't you grow some rumblespheres and kill me already_. Or maybe it's trying negotiate, and he's reading the tone wrong altogether. He doesn't really care. It's crouched now, and the makeshift shelter has fallen away. Karkat looks down, and suddenly has to work very hard not to see the obvious fabric shape of the human's bulge in its pants. If the human somehow wants to fuck him for some batshit suicidal reason, he doesn't know how well his impulse control will hold up.

He doesn't bother asking questions, because the human isn't going to understand two words of it. Without dropping his sickles, he points to the very distracting shape under the cloth. "Fucking seriously?"

The human follows his pointing. Its cheeks darken from beige to something noticeably redder. It says something else incomprehensible, stumbling but sharp, as if flustered, and bares its teeth.

Fuck it.

Karkat sheathes one sickle on his belt, allows himself approximately three seconds to scream internally at how ridiculous this whole idea is, and then grabs the human's shoulder and shoves it against the broken wall behind it. The human shouts, making an uncomfortably trollish expression of unrestrained fury, and tries to sock him in the face. He has to give it some credit for its raw strength, since it puts up good resistance, and he's pretty sure the punch would have hurt like hell if it actually landed, but he's the one who knows how to fight, and this human fights like it's never had to scrap for survival even once in its goddamn pampered life.

He drops onto the human's level, but still a little above, crouching as he forces it to kneel. His hand doesn't leave its shoulder, but he shoves a knee between its legs, stopping just shy of actually following through an attack to instead lean into it, pinning it to the wall. Protesting, the human squirms and twists, trying to find a way out from under him, but he has it cornered.

The fact that the humans have pants and zippers is a coincidence Karkat would be spending much more time being _utterly fascinated by_ if he wasn't pissed and caliginously horny, trying to hold a struggling alien, and also in the general state of not giving a flying fuck about the convergent evolution of an alien culture that, assuming all goes to plan, won't meaningfully exist by the end of the decade. Instead of thinking about this, he sheathes his other sickle, adjusts his position, and unzips the human's pants.

There's another layer of cloth, white this time with thin blue stripes, and he wants to say he hesitates before ripping it down the middle with his claws, but he's not letting himself lose momentum, not now. If he's going to fuck the human, he's not going to do it half-assed. The human spits angry nonsense sounds at him and also literally spits in his face, which is gross as fuck and should be making him think twice but it isn't at all. Karkat is practically on top of it now, using his knees to pin its legs, as he fumbles to pull down the front of his own uniform, having to settle for rolling up the shirt and opening the front gap to make space.

The human lands a punch with its free hand this time, and it grabs him by the hair and catches on a horn, which somehow makes the whole thing hotter than before. Karkat snaps to grab its soft squishy hand in his teeth, almost on instinct. He bites down on air, but a little red rewards him, and the reminder of the color drives his fury home.

He gets his bulge over the top band of his undergarments with a quick bit of wrangling, and lets it sit for a moment, ugly dull crimson already starting to seep into the dark fabric, startling another strangled shrieking noise out of the human beneath him. It scratches at his arms with blunt claws that don't leave a mark, and he wants to scream at how useless and defenseless this damn thing is, that it can't even fend off a single enemy like him, that it's never even fucking _had_ to, but he can't even decide where to start and it just comes out as an inarticulate hissy growl.

Rather than let him frustrate himself further with the countless words fighting for exit, though, the human decides to change tactics again and headbutts him in the mouth. Karkat can feel his upper mouthflap splitting on a tooth, and the impact rattles him unexpectedly, nearly loosening his grip. Whether the human is pitch-flirting back at him or just that desperate to flee isn't clear, but their faces slam together again a second later, and this time Karkat manages to headbutt back hard enough to make the cartilage of the human's scent-nub crackle.

Their mouths meet sharply and at wrong angles, mingling the salt-metal taste of blood and tongues, and Karkat can _feel_ his bulge writhing between the human's legs and worming around its exposed junk. He doesn't know what genitals it has exactly, but the shape of a stiff tubelike bulge presses into his own with blatant arousal, and his wraps around it and clasps it tight like it's ready to never let go again. The heat rises through his abdomen, his chest, his face, and the human is biting back, panting heavily and not-quite-moaning, dueling with teeth and grabbing his hair again, and it yanks until he nearly loses grip of its mouth in the mess. He digs his claws into the side of its neck, enough to bruise, and thrusts forward.

The human breaks free of liplock this time, and lunges forward, barreling its hornless braincase into Karkat's front. Possessed by the unthinking need to retaliate, he grabs the back of its shirt and shoves its face down to his bulge, which pulses with both need and an obscene amount of red-pink tinted ooze.

It bites him. Its teeth are mostly flat, herbivorous, but the ones at the front still have shearing strength behind them. The pain barely registers for the rush of fight hormones and jittery blackrom feelings running through him, though, and god he's _seen_ this in a pitch porn video once, read this scene in books. He used to consider it a recipe for particularly moronic members of society to remove themselves from the gene pool, and he still honestly does, but he can't deny the feelings it gives him. He elbows the human in the back, and he knows yelling at it to go fucking _harder_ won't make a difference, but he does anyway, in a hoarse keening voice he can't seem to control any longer.

(In the moment, being a deviant alien fucker seems so irrelevant. Drones and breeding season terrify him for good reason. When is he going to get a chance to do anything like this, without having to fear the risk of imminent execution?)

The human gets the message, somehow, or maybe it just hates him that much. Its teeth and tongue are dexterous enough he swears it has to be deliberate, and between the hard alien bulge inside and the mouth outside, it doesn't take long for the energy in him to peak.

He's rocking like his whole body is seizing, and his bulge is tight and tensing now, ready to funnel discharge into his nook and disgorge the usual genetic slurry. It's all a furious haze, too fast, and then the release comes in the form of a spurt of pink fluid, viscous and reeking of pheromones. He'll probably have to hose down after this, he realizes, unless he wants to get mocked mercilessly by his current squadmates for masturbating on the job.

When he falls back, lightening his grip on the human, it seems to have reached a climax of its own -- there's streaks and trails of white amid the pink; the humans' genetic fluids must be a different color than their blood, yet again. It sits limp against the corner, still bent over his bulge until he pushes it to sit against the wall, shallowly gasping like it can't quite breathe. Its pupils look dilated as it stares at him, blushing and bleary with whatever post-coital chemical soup has filled its brain in parallel to his. Too tired to fight back, anymore.

After what feels like a long minute (and probably is), Karkat gets up. The human makes a half-hearted swing at him, but slips and stumbles when it moves to stand. Hot blood trickles down Karkat's lip, and oh blistering sweet _fuck_ he didn't think this through. He's going to have to clean this up, darken the marks so they don't show -- black uniform fabric only hides so many sins. But then again, he has time.

The human looks almost pitiful now, sitting there, used and lost-looking, but he is not flipping quadrants for it, fuck no. This flight of inane, seething passion was weird enough. He should have killed it by now, like any self-respecting troll of the Empire, and moved on.

He can't quite bring himself to.

Karkat glowers at the human, daring it to do something, anything to encourage him to kill it. Just one tiny thing that would break the spell of alien sex fuckery. That's all he's asking for.

Instead, the human rises on trembling legs, zips its pants, and with a single shaky reprimand he doesn't expect to understand, it bolts off through the rubble. Where to, Karkat can't fathom, since the whole neighborhood and surrounding district is nothing but wreckage and death, but he doesn't stop it.

The next human he finds alive will be dead much quicker than this one, he decides. He doesn't think too hard about whether that's a mercy or not.

* * *

The blood dries rusty burgundy and brown on the concrete, on his hands, all of it that isn't his. It mingles with the still-bright red of his own like watered down paint as he washes off.

It feels like an insult, but he refuses to harbor the emotional engine of kismesis for an entire useless fucking species. The next human he finds is armed, and he turns it to a bloody pulp instead, screaming the miscellany of vitriol that runs through his thoughts like demented drug addicts on public transport, and stifles the terror when the bronzeblood girl finds him standing over the body, because he can't shake the feeling of being found out even when none of the blood is his.

It figures, that the one time the universe offers him camaraderie, he'd go and fuck it up like this. It figures even more that it's a lie.


End file.
